As Long As You Love Me So
by ice-connoisseur
Summary: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff’s Twelve Fics challenge. Twelve brief glimpses into the lives of Percy and Penny Weasley. Because we didn't get enough.
1. Life and Light

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. The lives of Percy and Penny, jumbled and muddled…just as they should be. Canon.  
**Posted**: 26/12/07

**Author Notes**: Soooo…saw the beginnings of a story someone was posting in response the TheOriginalHufflepuff's "Twelve Fics of Christmas" challenge, and thought to myself…"Well, that looks like fun…I've got exams in January, lots of work and a relative invasion…why not?!"

Hmmm. Probably not my best plan. Anyway, here it is – twelve oneshots, each in response to a given prompt, mine all focused around the lives of Percy Weasley and Penny Clearwater. Mainly the former.

**Disclaimer**: Despite frequent attempts on my behalf, she still won't sell. Shucks. I wonder why…And the title was nicked from "Let it Snow", while chapter titles are from various carols. Probably the most Chrsitmassy bits in it. Ahh well.

**Dedication**: To those who shall never read it, but whom have given me many a fabulous evening and afternoons - here's to many more.

**Prompt One**: Dance

* * *

Light and Life

She smiles at him for the first time on September 1st 1986. Their first trip on the Hogwarts Express; she, the first in her family, experiencing a whole new world for the first time; he, breaking away from the watchful eyes of two older brothers because here is his chance to be more than just one of seven. He knocks her over, but she doesn't snap. She laughs instead, and calls him clumsy, and he helps her pick up the books she carries, and somehow they end up in a compartment together. She tells him the tales of the books she carries, and secretly admits how scared she was. For why should anyone like her, strange little girl who always carries a book few wizards had ever read?

He smiles, and promises that _he_ will be her friend, (no reason, he thinks, to tell her that he has no friends wither) and spends the rest of the journey explaining all he knows of Hogwarts and magic and how the next seven years will be. (Which turns out to be all wrong, but then they are young and free and innocent and it is always good to dream.) And she smiles at him, not a normal, everyday smile, but a special smile that lights up her entire face, making her nose wrinkle slightly and her eyes sparkle.

Penelope Clearwater. He calls her that for the next year, before she finally gets fed up with it one evening shortly before the summer holidays, and chases him from the Great Hall wielding her mashed potatoes and chanting "Penny! Penny!"

After that, he only calls her Penelope when he is particularly serious, worried or cross.

Everyone knows when she is happy. The entire of Hogwarts feels lighter – or rather, he feels lighter, and he see's no reason why everyone else shouldn't too. And she is always happy.

It's like the sun breaking through cloud, catching sight of her in the corridor. When she is happy, every other step becomes a skip, and everyone she passes gets a smile, from Dumbledore to Snape to every single snotty-nosed first year.

Her best friend, she calls him, and, as such, he takes it upon himself to learn her. Know her best out of everyone. (For being the best is the one thing he knows he is good at). Her quirks, her habits, everything. He learns the way she has toast for breakfast every morning, the slice cut into two triangles, jam on one half, marmalade on the other. Sees the way she tugs at a loose lock of hair when she is worried, the way her ears twitch when she is angry.

He often thinks how apt her surname is, for watching Penny is like watching the river that runs through the meadow behind the Burrow. Always moving, jumping and skipping and dancing its way through, come rain or shine, and she just the same.

For seven years they trundle along, skipping their way through petty arguments and homework and first dates and last feasts. And because he goes through it with Penny, it becomes a dance – a long, amazingly complicated dance, the sort where if you hesitate for one second too long, put a foot slightly to far to the left, the entire thing is thrown and salvage is very rarely possible.

Barely a year out of Hogwarts, and he not only puts a foot slightly wrong….he careens through the whole thing and turns a waltz into a multi-pileup.

She shouts. He shouts. She slaps him. And he storms out.

The next time he sees her, she is dancing again. Ducking and weaving through a duel with a Death Eater he doesn't recognise, spells flying thick and fast. She's being pushed backwards, towards a wall, and he doesn't think twice; not two minutes ago, his brother had died in front of him, and so it is a new version of Percy Weasley that leaps forward and yells "reducto", wand pointed straight at the offending figure. Not the killing curse, but just as effective.

She looks at him, then, disbelief in her eyes, but there's no time for talk, no time to explain, because someone is screaming nearby, and it's too much to hope it could be a Death Eater.

He turns one way, and she the other, and there is no chance to share even a look. For this is not their fairytale, this is their story, and it is real and true and hard.

It is over, and she dances no more. Lying still in a hospital bed, he has to watch her chest very carefully to remind himself that yes, she lives. Just. Not like Fred…cold, cold Fred who should never have been so still. She will wake up, the Mediwitch says. They won't say when.

But wake up she does, and they let him take her home. And now they sit, in semi-awkward silence, in Percy's flat, because her parent's house is already full, and she cannot cope by herself, although she'll never admit it. She's alive, but her eyes are dead, and there's no more dancing. Oliver thinks he got her away from the dementors in time, but Percy can't help but wonder if he was too late. Her soul is there, but someone has turned off the music, and the dancing has ended.

And he doesn't know how to start it back up again.

* * *

One down, eleven to go…best set to it then! 


	2. How Still I See Thee Lie

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. The lives of Percy and Penny, jumbled and muddled…just as they should be. Canon.

**Disclaimer**: One day, her back will be turned…and MWAH! I shall leap out and steal it, and lo! It shall be mine! Until then, however, Harry, his friends, his enemies and his publishing rights all remain in the hands of JKR.

**Authors Notes**: And on we go…although, technically, I suppose this ought to be back we go…as you should realise shortly, this fic is not being posted chronologically!

Has anyone seen the family tree JKR has drawn for the Weasley's? There's a link to it on mugglenet…and Percy apparently doesn't marry Penny. Ach well. To the AU world we go!

My thanks to **stellasofia** and **TheOriginalHufflepuff** for their reviews last chapter.

**Prompt Two:** Mirror

* * *

How Still I See Thee Lie

"She had a mirror in her hand. Do you know why?"

Percy shook his head silently, not even bothering to try and remember how speech works. Penny – laughing, smiling Penny – is lying stiff and cold in front of him, and he's not entirely sure how he's managing to remain standing, let alone anything else.

McGonagall is still speaking to him, her voice soft and sorrowful, and that is not right at all – he would much rather she be her usual strict self, because then there would be something familiar to latch on to.

"I must go." she says, and for one terrible moment Percy thinks she is going to grasp his shoulder. "I need to see your brother and Mr Potter…"

That gets his attention – why should they need to know about Penny? And then he notices the other bed for the first time – Hermione Granger, as still and silent as his Penny. Two smart, clever girls…and, as the voice in the back of his mind points out, two muggle-borns.

He sits by his stony girlfriend. He still hasn't quite got used to calling her that, yet, despite the fact they've been going out for over three months. Madam Pomfrey bustles around him, clucking under her tongue as she examines each victim in turn. He didn't think he'd ever seen a malady the Medi-Witch had been unable to treat.

Eventually, footsteps clattering along the corridor outside remind him that there are other people about, spurring him back into movement. McGonagall will be bringing Harry and Ron soon, and it would be no good for them to find him here. Even when she is lying as still as death, Percy is not ready for the teasing and jeering announcing his (first) relationship would incur.

And he ought to tell Olivier…as close to a friend as he has, really, and he knows the quidditch captain would want to know. Penny had looked after Denna, Oliver's sister, three years his junior, when she had been a first year, put in Ravenclaw, away from the familiarity of her brother. For some reason, Percy had never begrudged his friend the soft-spot the same way he had begrudged so many of Penny's admirers – perhaps because he knew it was wholly platonic, perhaps because he knew of the much larger soft spot the keeper possessed for one of his chasers.

Taking one last glance at his…friend? Girlfriend? None of those words seemed to quite fit what Penny was…Percy got up, preparing to leave, when the mirror in her hand caught his eye. He hadn't really looked at it before, even when McGonagall had been asking him about it, too focused on her face…but now he saw it, and recognised it…he had bought it for her two weeks before, in Hogsmeade. It was a simple thing, little hand mirror she had seen in the window of a junk shop, nine sickles. He'd gone inside to buy it for her, despite her protests that that wasn't why she'd stopped, he didn't have to, he shouldn't…and he'd only had five sickles on him, but the shop keeper, an old man who could be a slightly taller Flitwick, had winked at him, and wrapped it up anyway, and refused to take anything. Present for the lady, he'd said, smiling at Penny's back as she nosed through the rickety shelves.

Weeks later, when Percy had discovered exactly what the mirror had done, he returned to the junk shop with Penny on his arm once more, and squeezed the little man's hand tightly, thanking him so profusely he went red with embarrassment.

And years later, sitting in his office in the Ministry, about to put his signature to another parchment that would send another twenty-five muggleborns to Azkabam, a name he hadn't ever spoken, a name he hadn't even read for years, caught his eye…and something inside him snapped. The office became the base of a silent rebellion, and a little man and his tiny wife were saved from something worse than death. Because Percy Weasley was always a man of honour – occasionally strange, twisted honour – but honour all the same. And a debt was a debt, even if it had never been labelled as such.

The mirror had been worth far more than nine sickles. So it was probably right that he paid for it with far more than silver and gold.

* * *

Done and done. On to number three!

Just had another look at the family tree...George and Angelina? Argh! She loved Fred! And he was for Katie! Sigh...


	3. Joyful and Triumphant

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. The lives of Percy and Penny, jumbled and muddled…just as they should be. Canon.

**Disclaimer**: Ok, ok…I admit it. Yes, they are actually mine. All mine!

…

I'm kidding, obviously.

**Authors Notes**: Ho hum…esteemed challenge-setter, if you're out there….permission to miss dealine? I've got six more to write, and no time at all today. I will have them done by the weekend, though – promise!

Anyway, my thanks to Emmy-loo, hydraspit and TheRavenclawNinja for their reviews – I will get round to replying to them, I promise!

And on we go again…

**Promt Three**: Surprise

* * *

Joyful and Triumphant

Snippets of sentences roll around his head, but he is too dazed to notice them. 'Honoured…' 'exceptional work ethic…' 'ready for the challenge…' 'credit where credit's due…'

They're praising him, some distant part of his brain informs him. _Him_! Percy Weasley, lowly secretary, called up before the Minister and his Senior Undersecretary…he'd thought it was for the sack, after all the trouble with Mr Crouch. And then the word "promotion" toppled from the funny looking woman's lips, and he was beyond sense, beyond rational thought…of all the hundreds of people in the Ministry, they'd picked him!

And this time…this time there was no way it could be because of his surname. It can't be because Bill or Charlie have done it too, and been so good at it, and so it makes sense he'd be good at it too. It can't be because someone feels sorry for him because he's poor. It's because he, Percy Weasley, is the best man for the job – direct quote from the Minister of Magic himself.

At last, the Minister and his funny toad-woman – Delores, she told him to call her – release him, and he's free. For the first time in his life, Percy leaves work five entire minutes early, so desperate to get home and tell the others.

He can picture his mothers face – so proud, she might even cry, like she did when he got made Head Boy. And Dad…for the first time, Percy falters. Would his father mind, having a son in a position so much his senior? But then, his dad loves his job, and Percy knows he wouldn't swap it for the world. And Arthur Weasley knows how much this would mean to his son.

Buoyed up, he continues. The twins will tease, of course, and so will Bill and Charlie next time he sees them, but it'll be their special sort of teasing – the sort, he likes to think, that means they are secretly pleased for him, and that's just the best way they have of showing it.

And Penny…he'll take her out for a meal, not tonight – mum will want to cook something special tonight, he's sure – but tomorrow night. A good, proper meal, in a fancy restaurant, because she deserves it and he can afford it now.

Except…it doesn't quite work that way. His mum does cry, but not in pride. She cries because he makes her, shouts at her, and at dad, because they don't understand…why can't they see how much this means to him?! But no, it all comes back to _Dumbledore_ and _Voldemort, _just like it always does…just once, can't they be pleased for him, for something he's done?!

There's lots of shouting, that evening, and suddenly the twins and Ron are there, forming a barrier between him and his parents, three faces with very ugly looks. And Hermione's holding back Ginny, for which he is later profoundly grateful – if he had to face any of his siblings, Ginny would be his last choice.

So he does the obvious thing.

The door slams shut behind him, and he doesn't even turn back for a final look at the Burrow – not home, never home again, now – as he storms to the edge of the wards and apparates.

Stuff them, his anger murmurs. They've chosen their side, and you've chosen yours. One will be wrong, and, after all, Percy Weasley is never wrong.

The idea of a third side to unbalance the equation is not to be considered.

More out of habit than anything else, he ends up on Penny's doorstep. She rents a flat in London now, with a friend, and she, he is sure, will be happy for him.

She's shocked to see him, white faced and clench-fisted. Rarely is he truly furious, so mad it takes her fifteen minutes to cool him down enough so he can speak.

But the sympathy he wants – expects, really – does not come. She listens with a blank face, and when he finishes she does not speak for several minutes.

And then she asks him, in a funny voice that doesn't suit her at all, if he thinks he has done the right thing.

He answers yes, of course, surprised at her question. Doesn't she get what this will mean? For him, for her, for _them_?

Evidently not, because now she is shouting at him, calling him all manner of things in every language under the sun. She's training to be a translator, his Penny, and while he is mostly very proud of how many languages she can speak near-fluently, there are times he wishes he could understand at least fifty percent of what she is saying.

There is no mistaking the slap she firmly plants on his cheek, however.

Half an hour later, he sits alone in a rented room above the Leaky Cauldron. If they will not see, if they will not understand…well then.

And, not for the first time, nor for the last, Percy Weasley picks a side.

* * *

Hmmm…well, I posting this is a rush, so it's not been properly proof read. Any faults are mine alone, and if anyone spots any, please point them out in a review and I will go back and edit!

See you next time.


	4. Sealed in the StoneCold Tomb

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. The lives of Percy and Penny, jumbled and muddled…just as they should be. Canon.

**Disclaimer**: New Years Resolution…obtain ownership of Harry Potter. Until then, you're stalking the wrong person…sorry.

**Authors Notes**: Happy New Year to you all! Especially to **TheRavenclawNinja** and **ChrissyWhissy** for their reviews.

**Prompt Four**: Firewhisky

* * *

Sealed in the Stone-Cold Tomb

Sometimes, Percy wonders what it is like to be an only child. Or an orphan. And then he sees Harry, sitting amongst them all at dinner, gazing around like he can't quite believe they're real, that he's here, that this sort of thing exists…and he decides maybe it's not so bad after all.

Tonight, however, he would quite gladly swap places with Harry a thousand times over. Except he knows Harry has stood here too, as has Ron and Hermione, Charlie, Bill, Ginny and his parents. And none of them were able to do any good.

So Bill had turned up at Penny's flat that evening, and demanded he have a go. He had argued back – pointed out that if none of them had had any luck, he was hardly going to…that Penny couldn't be left alone – only the previous day she had very nearly flooded the whole building trying to run herself a bath – that George hated him anyway, so what good was he going to do?

But Bill was the eldest, and for as long as any of the Weasley children can remember, in the end what he said went. Fleur was staying Penny for the night, while Bill himself escorted Percy to the doorstep of the final brother's flat.

With a final, surprisingly gentle smile, and a quick shoulder grasp, Bill disapparated. And he was alone.

Taking a deep breath, and wishing desperately that he was brave like Bill or kind like Ginny or just generally likeable like Ron, he knocks.

There is no answer. After ten minutes or so of increasingly persistent knocking, Percy decides to forgo manners entirely, and, with a quick bit of wand work, is standing inside the flat.

His first reaction is to recoil in hooror. The place stinks! Several weeks worth of Daily Prophet's are scatted around the hallway, mingled in with half-eaten take-aways and several sets of dirty work robes. Picking his was cautiously amongst the mess, Percy heads to the nearest door, which, if he remembers correctly from his one and only visit to the premises, leads to the living room.

It does. If the hall was a mess, there were not words enough in the English language to describe the room he now enters. Untouched plates of food, unopened mail, a thick film of dust on every surface, and, in the middle of it all, a grungy figure lying on the scarlet sofa.

"Ahem." Percy clears his throat to announce his presence. The figure doesn't move.

He tried again. "George? It's Percy. You awake?"

The figure snorts, and, after a moments effort, struggles up into a sitting position.

"'Ello Perce. What're you doin' 'ere?"

Percy winces, both at the horrific misuse of the English language and at the stench of fire whiskey that rolls off his brother.

"I came to see how you were." he says primly, taking a nervous seat on the cleanest chair in the room.

George grunts. "Grand, just grand."

Percy snorts, despite himself. "That's the biggest lie I've heard in a long time, and I've been working in the Ministry for the past year."

George laughs hollowly. "Yeah, well. What 'bout you then?"

Percy automatically opens his mouth, the "fine" on the tip of his tongue…and then he slowly closes it again. George is playing a game – no matter what happens, the Weasley twins will always be playing games…and if he was going to play, then Percy is writing the rules.

"Not good. Penny is…not good. She starts to do something, and then forgets, and gets so upset when she realises she's made a mistake. And I'm so busy, trying to help the Minister and the Aurors, but she can't be left alone too long, and her mother doesn't really understand – they're muggles, you see…"

Percy trails off, realising his brother isn't listening.

"How terrible for you." says George blankly, looking bored.

There is a silence for a while, and Percy begins to wonder if he ought to leave – he has tried, afterall. And then George speaks again.

"You know, Perce, you do amaze me sometimes."

Percy frowns, unsure where his brother is going with this.

"I mean, you were always a bit of an idiot, but you were mostly our idiot, you know? And then…first you're with Crouch, then you're with Fudge, and now you're with us. You're as bad as the Death Eaters that are pleading information in return for freedom…desperate to belong to the winning side."

Calm, Percy reminds himself. Stay calm. It isn't like he hasn't faced these accusations before.

"I was not 'with Fudge', as you put it." he says stiffly. "I did my job, but that does not mean I agreed to it."

George laughs humourlessly. "Oh, come off it Perce. You must have loved it, being petted and praised by all them high ups. 'Good job, Weatherby. Excellent tea, Weatherby. Have a sickle, Weatherby.' Pathetic."

His hands are shaking, now. Is this why the others refused to come anymore? Was this what George has become? Snarky, cruel, everything he had always hated in other people?

"If you think I had it easy last year, _brother_, you are very much mistaken. While you lot ran around like heroic fools, I was swiping muggleborns from under the Ministry's nose! An 'accident' here, some lost paperwork there…they went to France and Germany and America and pretty much everywhere, and all it needed was one bit of loose talk and I was done for."

George snorts again. "Oh, how dashing of you."

But there is just a hint of begrudging admiration in his voice, and for a moment Percy thinks he sees his old brother shinning through. And then he raises the near-empty bottle of fire whiskey to his mouth.

Suddenly taken with a bout of either great bravery or great stupidity, Percy leans forward snatches the bottle from his brother's hands.

"Hey! Gimme back!"

George swipes feebly at Percy, misses, and knocks the lamp over. Percy quickly righted it with a flick of his wand, and vanishes the bottle with another.

"No. I think we've had quite enough for one night."

"Bring it back!"

"You sound like a three year old. Definitely not, if this is what it reduces you to."

And then, moving quicker than a drunk man should have been able to, George is on top of him, and they are rolling round of the floor.

"I need it! Give it back!"

Percy doesn't bother answering, too badly winded by the weight on top of him and knowing his answer won't please, anyway. George might be drunk and uncoordinated, but he has spent years play-wrestling with his brothers, and years as a beater on top of that. The closest Percy comes to this sort of thing is lifting a particularly heavy book.

So he allows himself to be rolled about on the floor, trying half-heartedly to field George's swings, many of which are missing of their own accord anyway. He isn't aware of his glasses falling off his face, but the soft crunch and gasp of pain tells him they have. George suddenly rolls off him, his hand cradled against his chest.

"Ow." he moans pitifully. "Hurts."

Quickly fixing his glasses, Percy bends forward to look. The glass has sliced across the palm of George's hand, which was now dripping beads of blood.

"Here." said Percy, taking his brother's hand in his own and looking around for something to dab it with. Summoning and cleaning a tea-towel as best he can, he begins to dab at the cut; over the past month he's become very good at it – Penny, in her current state, is managing to fall over or cut herself or burn herself every other day.

George watches him silently for a while, and Percy begins to wonder if he's fallen asleep, when something wet drops onto his bare arm. He looks up, shocked to see silent tears streaming down his brothers face. He can't remember the last time he's seen George cry – even that night, with Fred's body in front of them, he hadn't cried. Sat there, staring hopelessly, pale and silent…but never cried.

"I'm a mess, Perce." mutters his younger brother through a blocked nose and sodden cheeks.

"Yeah." Percy agrees, seeing no need to mince words. "But…they want to help you. Bill, Charlie, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Harry…mum and dad…and me."

"He'd be giving me a good kick right now. I'd deserve it, too. Shouldn't have hit you, though. Sorry."

Percy waves it off. "S'alright."

"I just…I miss him so much. And I keep forgetting, you know? Thinking he's going to be there, if I turn round and look, and then I'll stand there for ages not turning round, 'cos the moment I do I'll have to admit it to myself that he really isn't there at all. He…he was my brother. But he was more, 'cos I was him and he was me, and half the time it was hard to tell where one of us ended…and I just want him back."

And they sit there, in the middle of George's messy, smelly living room, on the floor leaning against the sofa in the dim light. George cries onto his brothers shoulder, whole body shaking with vicious sobs, and Percy awkwardly pats his back and holds him close, muttering nonsense words into the messy, unwashed hair.

That night, he would put George to bed and ransack the flat, throwing out more dirty dishes and old newspapers and empty fire whiskey bottles than he thought existed. And three days later, he would bring Penny round, because George needed a break from the shop and a break from moping around, and watching Penny was a job that needed doing.

But for now they sit there and cry, for things lost and things nearly lost, and the fear of never finding again. One has lost, and one knows how very close he has come to loosing – how close he still is. And that, in the end, gives them an understanding they will never truly comprehend. But it will do. And it is (almost) enough.

* * *

Hmmm…not so happy with this one, couldn't get it to quite flow properly. Ahh well…what will be, will be.

Hope you all had a great last night of 2007, and that the headaches are fading! Here's to 2008!


	5. Bless All the Dear Children

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. The lives of Percy and Penny, jumbled and muddled…just as they should be. Canon.

**Disclaimer**: Due to the sheer slackness on my behalf, all the rights I didn't have to Harry Potter have now been revoked. So I own less of it than ever.

**Authors Notes**: Yeah. So. Emma is absoloutly terrible at updating. Blame what you will – exams, work, more exams, driving…take your pick. Sheer laziness, Torchwood and Doctor Who should all feature, too. But I am now getting beautifully close to finishing – only two left, so we should be done by August! Although if anyone can give me a good idea for "phoenix", I'd much appreciate it!

Unending gratitude to TheRavenclawNinja and AssumptionsFinest for their kind reviews. Sorry you had to wait so long!

**Prompt Five**: Heart

* * *

Bless All the Dear Children

Faye and Gemma Weasley were born on the 21st November, at half past eight and twenty to nine in the evening respectively. For the first six months of their lives, each wore a tag around her left wrist, with her name neatly printed on it. The first time their parents figured out for themselves that a certain uncle had swapped them round, they were discarded.

When they were five, the same uncle bought them each a headband with their name on it. He then settled into a series of long and complicated stories about exactly why it was a good thing to be able to switch persona's. Penny tried to cut him off on "…and practise on your parents. All the time."…but it was too late. The damage was done, and, as she said with a small smile that night, when all four children were in bed, it was probably right that the "ways", as she dubbed them, were passed on.

He had worried, when they were small. Worried that they would go the same way as their great-uncles, mown down in the middle of battle. Worried that they would go the same way as their uncles, one dead, the other never quite whole again, no matter how much he healed.

* * *

Children are an ever present wonder to Percy Weasley, and his own even more so. The fact that he – boring, predicable Percy Weasley – could produce four such different beings is something that has never ceased to amaze him. He thinks George probably had a lot to do with it, but it has been a long time since he begrudged his brother anything. George and Penny had saved each other during the long months in the first year after the final battle – letting him corrupt his children seemed a small price to pay in return.

* * *

Kings Cross was full of people, as it always is. Children and adults and old folk all in a rush to get where they need to be. Percy had always hated September First as a child – the rush, the panic, the last minute packing, the noise and the movement. And it seemed worse, now, somehow – the knowledge that it was his two children who would be boarding the train and disappearing until Christmas was something he was not at all comfortable with.

Everyone was there – Harry and Ginny, of course, had their own children to see off, as did Hermione and Ron, and Bill and Fleur. And Molly and Arthur always came, to entertain the younger children while their siblings said goodbye, and to see off their many grandchildren themselves. But one face, whom had promised his godchildren he would be there, was copiously absent, and if George Weasley did not show himself soon he would be facing one very unhappy older brother.

And then the crowd parted, and there he was, red faced and out of breathe, muttering apologies and something about a customer turning into a guinea pig, hugging his two giggling goddaughters, and making them solemnly swear to get up to no good. Harry's eldest had grinned at that, and the last thing Percy saw of his daughters before the train began to draw away was of them huddling close to the older boy, two identical, and very familiar, grins on their faces.

"Last night, I was worried if they were ready for Hogwarts." his wife whispered as they left the station. "Now, though…I can't help but wonder if Hogwarts is ready for them."

He laughed, at that, and glanced ahead at where George was giving one of Ron and Hermione's children a piggy-back.

"For a set of Weasley twins? Never."

* * *

The house was quiet that night – eerily so. With only two children left, everywhere suddenly seemed very empty. That was the problem with twins, Percy mused to himself. He would loose half his children each time they reached a certain age – they went to Hogwarts together, they would move out together…but then, allowing himself to settle into a chair without checking under the cushions for the first time in around six years, Percy wondered if maybe there were perks to the deal as well. He loved his children – all of them – with all his heart and more, but sometimes… sometimes peace was good.

And then there was a smash from upstairs, followed by silence and then an onset of giggles. Heaving himself out of the chair, Percy couldn't help but smile. Yes, peace was good, but home was better.

It was where the heart was, after all.

* * *

And there we go. Not my favourite, but if I don't post it now, it will never go up. I'm so sorry for the long delay in updates – hopefully, the rest will follow soon!


	6. Happy Golden Days of Yore

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. The lives of Percy and Penny, jumbled and muddled…just as they should be. Canon.

**Disclaimer**: The complete lack of updates over the past 14 weeks is due to the fact that I am in fact JKR, and have been busy working on the ten-book prequel. So yes, it is, actually, all mine.

Or not. Whichever floats your boat.

**Authors Notes**: Remember that comment last chapter about maybe finishing by August? I wasn't exaggerating. Or rather, at the time, I thought I was. Turns out I wasn't. Sorry.

But I will finish! There are few things I hate more than an unfinished story, so it would be amazingly hypocritically of me not to plough on. So, without furthur ado, chapter six! Half way there, folks!

**Prompt Six**: Patronus

* * *

Happy Golden Days of Yore

She is laughing at him, which is not helping the situation. For the first time in his life, Percy Weasley is unable to perform a spell, and he is extremely vexed.

"I think," says Penny, smiling widely, "that I am going to make note of today in my diary. February seventh: Percy Weasley unable to perform spell on first attempt."

"I just need to practise." he mutters, pushing his glasses further up his nose in concentration. "Anyway, you don't keep a diary."

She waves an airy hand. "I'll start one, especially for the occasion."

He rolls his eyes at her, and turns his back, concentrating.

"Expecto patronum…Expecto patronum…"

She is giggling, though, and he turns to glare at her once more. The effect is somewhat ruined by the bell, which causes a flurry of activity.

"I've got herbology now…meet me outside the empty classroom by Transfiguration at seven…I'll try and give you a hand." Penny says, doing up her bag and dropping a quick kiss on his cheek.

Percy smiles ruefully. How the tables turn…

* * *

They spend the evening in the empty classroom, Penny desperately trying to teach, repeating "happy thoughts, Percy, happy thoughts!" until she erupts into another fit giggles, and he has to placate her for several minutes until she remembers to start breathing again. And somewhere along the way they become sidetracked into…other things…although, as Penny later points out, it wasn't really sidetracking, because the happy memories of the evening can be used later _in producing a patronus_. So there.

* * *

He laughed at the joke that day, and she reassured him that he didn'tneed the patronus for the NEWTs anyway…but now, years later, crouched in a dark corridor deep in Azkabam he isn't laughing. He can feel them coming, and he's starting to remember exactly why he doesn't let emotion rush him into predicaments like this. Careful planning, not diving in with a half cooked idea and the knowledge that he was entering a dementor infested area having never yet produced a patronus.

But in the back of his head he knows that if he'd stopped and thought it through, he wouldn't be here now, and here and now was exactly where he needed to be. Well, perhaps not exactly…a few more meters away from the approaching dementor would be nice, if he was being picky.

So much for the grand plans that had fallen into his brain not an hour before, already half formed, as though he'd be thinking about it for months without realising. Perhaps he had.

Smudge a bit of paperwork here, a memory charm there…get back in touch with a few people from his old days in International Cooperation who still owed him a favour…and voila, hundreds of muggleborns out of Azkabam and out the country.

And, somewhere in the far distant future, when it is all over, because it will all finish one day, simply because it must, he would tell them all – his family, Penny, everyone – try and make them see that he was repaying his debts. Trying to at least begin to amend for where he went wrong, even though, looking back, he's not entirely sure where the wrongness first started. He just knows that it did.

So this is how it ends, he muses to himself, feeling strangely disjointed as he continued to back down the corridor. So much for grand plans, indeed. It will be over, soon, he knows, and his back will meet cold stone and that will be it. No more mum, no more dad…no more brothers, no more pranks or fights…no more Ginny…no more work, no more Oliver…no more Penny…_quiet nights in empty classrooms, because neither can go in the other's common room…breakfast together, herbology in the rain, too noisy to hear a word anyone says and she's got a smudge of soil on her cheek…_

"Expecto…patronum…Expecto patronum…EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

And for the first time, a silver spanial erupts from the end of his wand.

There should always be time for more.

* * *

And there will, indeed, always be time for another six chapter. Four of which are already written. Give the girl a medal. Or a review. And it won't take an entire series of Doctor Who before I update again this time, either. Promise.


	7. Join the Triumph of the Skies

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. The lives of Percy and Penny, jumbled and muddled…just as they should be. Canon.

**Disclaimer**: Nope. I'm a poor just-out-of-sixth-form person, about to become an even poorer Uni student. Though JKs millions would be much appreciated, I don't own Harry Potter, and so shall remain poor.

**Authors Notes**: And so September arrives, and I've still not finished. I've actually got most of it written – only one prompt left to do (if anyone has any ideas for "Phoenix", they would be much appreciated). It's just posting that I keep forgetting to get round to.

In other news; I got my A levels, and so I'm off to Bristol in a few weeks to start studying Vet Medicine. Rock on.

**Prompt Seven**: Victory

* * *

Join the Triumph of the Skies

"SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor lead by eighty points to twenty!"

Percy couldn't help join in the huge cheer that went up as Angelina Johnston punched the air, her smile clear even from where he stood. The stands were crowded, he was being elbowed and jostled by people he didn't know, and yet he was having the time of his life.

Besides him, Penny was cheering too: if Ravenclaw couldn't have it, she was more than happy to see the cup go to Gryffindor. And they both know how much it would mean to Oliver.

And then Harry was streaking towards the ground, a crimson blur against the sky, and the already impossibly loud shouts doubled in volume. Some form of small explosion took place in Percy's stomach as he watched his little brother's best friend pull out of the dive, something small and gold clasped in his hand. Penny threw her arms around him, shrieking excitedly in his ear, but for once the display of public affection didn't matter, and he kissed the top of her head in pure joy.

The crowd was surging forward, carrying them along, and Percy went gladly. Somewhere above him the team had turned into a many-limbed single entity, drifting slowly downward and landing surprisingly gently, only to vanish under a swarm of crimson.

Adrenalin pumped through every fibre of his being, and he couldn't help himself. Suddenly, calm, collected, dignified, responsible Percy Weasley ten years old all over again…cheering, jumping up and down, laughing like he hadn't done in more years than he cares to think about. At this moment, in this time that is both far to short and eternally long, he is young and he is free. For the rest of his life, it is a moment he can never quite bring himself to forget.

* * *

And so we're done again. That line in Prisoner of Azkabam – something like _Percy Weasley, jumping up and down, all dignity forgotten – _is my favourite line from, I think, the entire series. Every time I read that scene, I get a warm fuzzy feeling.

The chapter title felt very apt, too - perhaps the most relevent I've found. I'm quite a happy person over here.

Next chapter will be posted. Some time. I promise.


	8. Hopes and Fears of All the Years

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma

**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. The lives of Percy and Penny, jumbled and muddled…just as they should be. Canon.

**Disclaimer**: Characters belong to JKR, basic idea belongs to Lady Altair…I currently own even less than normal…lucky me.

**Authors Notes**: Back again! I've decided I am going to finish this by Christmas – you guys are in charge of holding me to this!

The idea behind this chapter was inspired by a oneshot by Lady Altair. I have emailed her and asked for her permission to adapt it for my own means, but had no reply – if you read this and wish me to remove it, just let me know. Everyone else, I highly suggest you go take a look at this highly prolific author; she is one of my all time favourites on this site.

**Prompt Eight**: Photograph

* * *

Hopes and Fears of All the Years

It is a beautiful building. Many storeys high, two perfect cylinders joined at the top by a glass-enclosed bridge, a marvel of modern magical architecture. Percy grips Penny's hand as they approach, and she squeezes his back. Both know what they will find inside, and yet, at the same time, neither of them is entirely sure what to expect. The project is nearly six years old, finally complete, and tonight those who took part are being granted the first viewing.

The entrance is not grand: a single room taking up the entire ground floor, the base of a huge white column standing in the centre. To one side is the beginning of a walkway, which winds its way upwards, a gently sloping path with the wall of the building on one side and a railing, allowing a person to look over and see the entire height of the building, on the other. The column stretches up above their heads, right up to the glass roof of the building, far enough away to prevent the walkway becoming closed in, and yet near enough for the writing on it to be easily read.

Large gold letters are printed into the side of the column opposite the doorway: "Lest We Forget," and, below them, a desk offering brochures detailing each individual exhibit. Percy takes his with his free hand – he has still not released the grip he has on his wife, and he does not intend to anytime soon – and together begin the walk.

The first photo, right at the foot of the walkway, contains no people. It shows a small, pale blue bedroom, a few posters tacked up, almost obscured by the hundreds of photos that look down from every surface. In the centre of the frame is a desk, covered in bottles of chemicals, a few half-developed photos hanging from a stand, and, in pride of place, a camera. There is a fine film of dust over everything. Colin Creevy never returned to finish those final pictures.

Opposite, carved neatly into the white stone of the column, is a date from May 1943, followed by a name, shining gold. Myrtle Rowlands. The first of many.

Penny shakes her head.

"It's funny. I never thought of her like that."

"That's the point of this." Points out Percy quietly. "To make us think like that."

His wife nods stiffly, and together they move on, stopping to read every name, carved chronologically into the stone pillar. The brochure from the desk in the entrance details the circumstances of each death; after the first few, they stop reading.

And on the opposite wall are the pictures, a mixture of ones taken when the subject is not paying attention, and those posed and sat for. The frames are arranged in no apparent order, but then, for this, order is not really needed. As they walk up the building, they pass small groups of people, all standing and staring, mainly in silence, at the picture that, in some way or another, means more to them than the others.

A girl Percy recognises as a Hufflepuff, from Ron's year, he thinks, gazing at a picture of herself gazing at her reflection in a mirror, wedding dress on and an empty space where her mother should have been standing.

They pass Harry, staring at two pictures in the same frame: a lightening bolt scar above a pair of green eyes, and the back of a hand reading "I must not tell lies". A few pictures on, an old Sirius Black wanted poster laughs silently at them.

Further on, picture-George sits alone within his frame, staring straight ahead, the laugh totally gone from his face. The picture is uneven; looking at it makes you feel slightly off-kilter, because George is slightly too far to the left, as though there should be something else next to him to balance him out.

Which, of course, there should be.

More photos, more lives, a thousand scars of different types. Angelina Johnston, minus one arm, and Katie Bell, the left hand side of her face appearing slightly blurred and melted, and the gap between them where tiny Alicia Spinet should have stood. Mandy Hewitt, a Hufflepuff Percy remembers as a prefect from his own year, gazing blindly out of her frame. Lavender Brown standing half naked with her back to the camera, looking at it over her shoulder, her skin a mess of raised scars courtesy of Fenrir Greyback. Josie Moss, completely bald. A house, blasted into a thousand pieces by the force of a backfiring curse.

The one Percy both looks for and dreads is near the top. It had been one of the first to be taken, and, looking at it now, Percy wonders if he was right to allow it to be done at all.

Penny, in the sitting room of their flat, looking as lost and alone as a small child separated from its mother on the streets of London. She is clutching the arms of the chair she sits in, gazing rigidly ahead at something only she can see, pale and drawn with limp, straggly hair, wearing clothes that will barely stay on her body anymore, so thin she has become.

Next to him, the real Penny gasps.

"Was…was I really like that?" she asks quietly, and Percy has no choice but to nod, because the proof is in front of them.

"Oh."

Silence for a while as they both look at the picture-Penny, and then real-Penny speaks again.

"I'm sorry, Perce." she whispers, and Percy suddenly reaches out and pulls her into a hug, because she should never feel the need to apologise to him for those months.

After a while, they move on again, to the top of the first tower and across the joining bridge to the top of the second. At first glance, the set up appears to be much the same – a large, circular building, with the walkway and the column. But there is no writing on this column, and pictures are not arranged in frames. Instead, they are pinned to the wall, covering it from floor to ceiling all the way down, hundreds upon thousands of photographs of waving, smiling, laughing, living people, captured in moments before Voldemort touched their lives.

Families, friends, weddings, quidditch matches, nights out and nights in…Dennis Creevy turned up one day carting with him every photograph his brother had taken during his seven years at Hogwarts, captured moments that had seemed so unimportant at the time, and now mean the world to some, and more to others. Cedric Diggory, standing proud and smart next to his father in front of the Hogwarts Express at the age of eleven. Moody's photo of the old Order, enlarged to display everyone at once. Lewin Michaels, Head Boy in Percy's first year, in Hogsmeade with his girlfriend, weeks before her entire family were killed, and him with them. An old, yellowed photo of a tiny girl with flame red hair swinging merrily off the arms of her elder brothers, the Prewett boys who should have lived to see their sister and nephews and niece grow into what they always knew they would be. Sirius Black, proudly posing with his bike. The Potters, a baby Harry trying to grab at the man behind the camera, restrained by his mother and encouraged by his laughing father.

As Neville Longbottom had pointed out at the first meeting to plan the memorial, there was no point having one at all if you were not going to commemorate how they were, as well as how they ended up.

By the time they reached the bottom, night had fallen. The building was still full, lit by a light that seemed to be coming from the central columns themselves, and Percy suspected that there would still be people here long into the early hours of the morning.

They would come back, one day, and bring the children, once they were old enough to understand. And then they would bring their children, and so on and so on, so that no one could ever forget the price that had been paid. Percy's head wasn't naive enough to imagine that the gallery alone was enough to stop something similar ever happening again, but his heart couldn't help but hope.

Taking each others hands once more, the Weasley pair moved out into the darkness. Tomorrow would come, and bring with it what it did, and thanks to the faces they were walking away from, they were still there to make sure it happened.

All had their story here. And they will never be forgotten.

* * *

And there we go. The photo of Hannah Abbot in her wedding dress without her mother was inspired by the Cancer UK advert, with all the people saying who should be there.

Three more to go…can we get there by Christmas? Only time shall tell!


	9. Looked Down Where He Lay

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. The lives of Percy and Penny, jumbled and muddled…just as they should be. Canon.

**Disclaimer**: Since Harry Potter was neither in my stocking, nor under the tree, I can only conclude that it is still not mine.

**Authors Notes**: One year on, and we're nearly there! Merry Christmas to you all!

**Promt Nine**: Quaffle

* * *

There is a ring of red roses on top of the coffin. There are always red roses – five times, now, has Percy stood and looked at them, as the years have rolled by and the crowds around the coffins aged and dwindled.

For he is old, now – unlike Charlie, who was thirty-five for at least seven years, Percy has never felt the need to deny the increasing number of grey hairs. Seven has dwindled slowly down, to rest for a short while upon three, and at times he likes to think of Fred and George, together somewhere, making up for years of separation with plots to torment him for the rest of eternity. The idea makes him determined to live as long as possible.

The wind is cold, whipping through the cemetery and blowing leaves around the mourners' feet. No one wears black – Percy, in his purple dress robes, half leaning on his granddaughter, who is in yellow, while his great-granddaughter sits at their feet, one of the few born of Weasley blood able to safely pull of red robes, thanks to her father's pale blond hair.

Percy keeps his eyes focused on the flowers, letting the minister's words wash over him and trying desperately to not look about ten metres to his left, for there stands a sight that he knows will completely break down the composure he so carefully built up before leaving that morning.

Hermione and Ginny are both crying openly, each gripping hard the hands of the man standing between them, as though letting go would cause them to lose him as well. And Harry is gripping them equally tightly, quite possibly for the same reason.

But he is not crying. Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding world, who defeated Voldemort when he was barely a year old, and again when he was seventeen, stands at his best friends funeral and does not cry, speak, or show any sign that his mind is even there. He gazes at the coffin, looking so lost and alone, despite the two women either side of him, that Percy had to turn away as they passed on their way in. Over the years, somehow, he had always seen Ron as Harry's friend; Harry, the leader, Ron the follower. For the first time, he is beginning to realise just how much his little brother meant to Harry, how, without him, it's as if the Boy Who Lived…just isn't.

The service ends, the coffin is lowered, and the soil replaced with a wave of a wand. The mourners begin the slow trek out of the churchyard, but Percy hangs back. Liv tried to stay, and he shoos her on. This task is something he needs to do alone.

He regards the freshly turned earth in silence for some minutes. When they buried Fred, Bill had stood beside him at this point. At every one of his brother's funerals after, Penny had done it. But she has been buried for nearly five years now, and maybe it is right that he does this final one on his own. He will not live to see his sister buried, of that he is determined.

"I never said sorry." he begins at last, voice slightly hoarse as he tries to find words so long rehearsed. "For the letter. It was stupid and wrong, and I know you know that anyway, and I think you know I think that now, too, but…well. I won't say I didn't mean it, because I did, at the time, but only for a little while. I was wrong. And I'm sorry I was never brave enough to say it to your face."

The roses are at his feet, the only marker of Ron's grave until the headstone is organised, and closer examination would reveal them to be not quite a perfect circle – arranged, instead, with several indentations. A quaffle. There has been one on each grave before this one, and there will be one more, on his sister's. But not his own, Percy is sure, just as there will be no one remaining behind to whisper long overdue apologies to unhearing ears.

The wind catches one of the flowers, already loosened by the constant buffeting, and pulls it loose. Transfixed, he watches it dance along the ground, rolled and blown about like the ball it was meant to represent.

"He knew."

A voice, cracked with age and emotion, jerks Percy back to reality. Harry shuffles closer, coming to stand at his shoulder, posture bent and defeated like a broken man. Which he is, really.

"About the letter. And you being sorry."

Percy nods. "Good."

They stand together in silence, watching the flower being tossed about until it is blown from their sight. And then they return to the others, for tea and memories.

While up on the hilltop, the flower-quaffle dances, as if being tossed through the air, only to be caught by the ghost of inexperienced hands. For the living, the dead will wait an eternity.

* * *

While I certainly do not think Percy to be a coward, I do think there are things in his past he will have wanted to stay there, buried and mostly forgotten for as long as possible. I also, believe, however, that in the end he will have wanted to seek peace, with both himself and those he loved.

The quaffle idea came from the realisation that Percy is the only Weasley to have absolutely no interest in playing Quidditch, which I perceive as being one of the first little things that begins to separate him from his family.

Anyway. Hope you enjoyed, feel free to spread some festive cheer and drop a review. Three more to go!


	10. When You Finally Kiss Goodnight

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. Twelve brief glimpses into the lives of Percy and Penny Weasley. Because we didn't get enough.

**Disclaimer**: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be richer. But I'm not. So I don't.

**Authors Notes**: Hahahaha. Opps. Sorry. I get distracted easily. Here are the final three for you. (Only two years late…)

**Prompt Ten**: Kiss

* * *

When You Finally Kiss Goodnight

The moon is only half full, and, though the stars are trying their hardest, the garden outside is shrouded in darkness. A small rectangle of light falling on the outside lawn from the upstairs window tells him Penny is still awake, and he knows that despite her many protests that they shouldn't stay up waiting, the light will not turn off until their errant grandchild has returned.

For Lucy has left them In Charge while her husband takes her off for their anniversary, and Percy and Penny Weasley would die seven times over before letting their youngest child down. It is only when you have watched your child try for so long for a child of her own that you fully appreciate it when it comes, he sometimes thinks, because although he will never have favourites amongst his many grandchildren, there is something special about Lucy's girl.

Olivia, named for her mother's godfather, just seventeen, and turning more and more into her grandmother with each passing day. And tonight - he has to sigh to himself, thinking about it, in the same way he has sighed eighteen times before - she is on a _Date_. With Eric _Malfoy_.

In fairness, when Lucy told him the news, nearly a year ago now, he only raised an eyebrow. A feat in itself, he thinks. Three generations on, and the animosity has faded - like so many families before them, the Malfoys have branched off, and while there remains a core group of purists, the vast majority are much improved on the blond-haired ponces of Percy's schooldays.

Still. He would have paid a lot of money to see the look on Lucius Malfoys face had the man lived to see his great-grandson dating a Weasley, by blood even if not by name.

The outside light flickers on, interrupting his musings, and the decades melt away as Percy Weasley stands to attention, an action unaltered since his days as a Prefect. Over fifty years of living in the same house, not to mention having cast the charms himself, means he knows exactly where someone must be moving to set the motion wards off, and, sure enough, there they are. She's gripping his arm tightly – the boy must have apparated them both, Percy thought, because he knew from her constant moans on the subject that Liv didn't have her licence. Malfoy had better well have his.

They are talking quietly, and even from the house Percy can make out the smile on his granddaughter's face, widening slightly into a giggle at something the boy is saying. Then she shivers, and it is the boy's turn to laugh. He loosens the grip on her arm and shoves her gently towards the house – manners, at any rate, which is something.

Liv laughs again, and shakes her head at him, before leaning forward and kissing him swiftly on the cheek. She turns her back and begins walking towards the house, so it is only Percy who sees the smile that creeps over the boys face. It reminds him of himself, somehow – that feeling of wonder that this girl, this person, sees so much in you that she would choose you above so many better candidates.

* * *

_Autumn, and they are walking across the grounds. Penny is talking about quidditch, and Percy is half listening, although he can tell she's been talking to Oliver because he swears his other friend had a very similar conversation with him the night before. But the sun is warm, and he likes listening to her voice, despite the fact that admitting so makes him feel rather stupid. She mentions Hogsmeade, asks if he plans on going the following Saturday, and he shrugs. They pass away another hour before heading back to the castle, and, as he turns to say goodbye at their usual parting spot, she catches his hand._

"_Perce? D'you want to come to Hogsmeade with me?"_

_He begins to nod, and then his brain kicks into gear and her earlier question makes sense. Oh. _

"_Well?"_

_He starts, and realises he's been staring. And his mouth is still half open. How pleasant. He closes it and tries to smile, although his body doesn't seem all that willing to obey his commands._

"_Sure." he finally manages to squeak. "I'd like that."_

"_Great. I'll see you at dinner."_

_Before he has time to blink, she's stretched up and brushed her lips quickly against his cheek. And then she beams at him, her full on patented Penny-beam, and disappears down the corridor. It seems to take him several years to get back to the common room, where Oliver spends a worried fifteen minutes trying to work out exactly what has turned his normally extremely articulate friend into an apparent zombie, and then laughs when he finally pulls the truth out of him. _

"_About time." he says, and laughs some more._

* * *

The front door slams, jerking Percy once more out of his memories. And there stands one very irate granddaughter, arms crossed but still with a small smile on her face.

"Honestly, granddad. I'm not ten anymore, you don't have to wait up for me."

Percy merely smiles. He's just seen Eric disapparate, having waited to see Liz get safely into the house.

He'll do.


	11. The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. Twelve brief glimpses into the lives of Percy and Penny Weasley. Because we didn't get enough.

**Prompt Eleven**: Phoenix

* * *

The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

It's over, it would seem. Standing amongst the ruins of the castle that was his home for seven years, Percy can't quite manage to grasp at that idea. For so long he has fought and hoped for this moment, but now it is here, he is not quite sure what to do about it.

Because this is not how it was meant to be. Fred is not meant to be dead; his mother is not meant to be crying inconsolably; Harry is not meant to be so blank and silent, a broken shell of the boy Percy remembered; Penny is not meant to be lying cold and unresponsive in St Mungos.

In Percy's head, during those long, cold and lonely nights of the past few months when thoughts of the end, of victory, were all to keep him going, this was not how it was. There was laughter and happiness and joy. Fireworks and dancing, celebrations that would last for weeks. His family, all of them, together and safe and so happy to see him; maybe even proud, once he'd explained what he'd been up to the past year or so.

This outcome, this reality, is like a cruel, twisted joke of that ideal. The shattered, broken remains of the world he loves so dearly, reduced to piles of rubble, wards full to bursting with the injured, a line of dead bodies.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

And yet…

Already, barely twelve hours after the fall of Voldemort and the end of the world as they knew it, he can see the beginnings of what will be. The able bodied starting to clear the rubble of Hogwarts, the injured giving and taking comfort where they found it, the witches and wizards of Britain pouring in to offer what help they could as the news spread.

Never before had the wizarding world come together like this. The rise of Voldemort had divided them; his reign had nearly destroyed them, but his fall…his fall had united them in a way that would leave a mark for generations to come.

And it was not better, could never be better, because there was no better when Fred was dead, when children had faced a battle no human should ever have to see, when their world lies battered and broken.

But not beaten. Never beaten.

To the victor go the spoils. An old muggle saying he's heard Penny use, and it has never seemed so apt. A worn-out, tired, decrepit pile of spoils, maybe, but spoils all the same.

Hope and grit and determination; they are spoils worth having.

They will rebuild. The buildings, the people, their world. Like the phoenix, they will rise again from the ashes, and when they do they will be more magnificent than ever before.

Percy sighed and ran one dirty hand through hair that was practically standing on end due to sweat and dust and blood. He could not stop, though his tiredness was a bone-deep ache and all he really wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a thousand years.

But no. Not yet. There were still people to be helped, rubble to be cleared, a world to be picked up and shaken out and put to rights.

Work to be done, and done it would be. Of that, he was sure.

And after all, Percy Weasley was never wrong.


	12. We're Happy Tonight

**Title**: As Long As You Love Me So  
**Author**: Kate's Master, aka Emma  
**Summery**: Response to TheOriginalHufflepuff's Twelve Fics challenge. Twelve brief glimpses into the lives of Percy and Penny Weasley. Because we didn't get enough.

**Prompt Twelve**: All Was Well

* * *

We're Happy Tonight

Nighttime. It is how Percy likes Hogwarts best, he often thinks. Towards the end of patrol, when even the most amorous students have disappeared to bed, and there is nothing but the soft whisper of an occasional ghost and the sound of his own footsteps to disturb the air.

Penny meets him on the second floor landing – they always spilt up to cover that one, its size, coupled with the abundance of useful hiding places, mean it would take them years to cover it as a pair – and he takes her hand without a word. The year is nearly over now, but Percy will never forget how close he came to losing her during it.

"All quiet?" she asks, and he nods. They walk in silence for a while, Percy quietly contemplating to himself how lucky he is to have a girl who shares with him an appreciation for silence when it is granted, until Penny stops at their usual parting point, where the corridor splits to take each prefect to their respective tower.

The moon is pouring in through the window on the wall opposite, and instead of parting, the stand together for a while, his arm around her waist and her head resting on his shoulder, gazing out across the dark grounds. The night is warm, smelling of summer, Ginny is safe, and his Penny is standing next to him, alive and breathing and wonderfully real.

Percy smiles to himself, and sighs contentedly. All is well. And tonight, that is enough.

* * *

Cripes. Well, that turned into more of an on-going event that I'd planned. Not even sure I've got anyone left still reading, but never mind. Finished, at last! Maybe I can finally start working on something new without feeling guilty about things left unfinished...


End file.
